


Prison Walls

by darkestbliss



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Abuse, Angst, Bisexual John, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Emotionless Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, POV John Watson, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock will seem out of character at first, Slow Build, general sadness, so much fucking angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkestbliss/pseuds/darkestbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is in a relationship with Victor Trevor. It's not good. John notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I never thought that Sherlock Holmes would be the one I fell head over heels in love with.

 

He was a real quiet guy, always staying in the corner of our table or at the very end of the bar, sipping his Diet Coca Cola. He never drank with us, and I never questioned it.

 

In fact, I never really took notice of him. Friday nights were always about relaxing, ignoring my surroundings and responsibilities after long weeks at the clinics and hospitals. The only thing ever on my mind was getting shit pissed drunk, not the man in the corner quietly holding his drink in one hand and thumping his fingers rhythmically on the table with his other.

 

The first time he joined us was also the first time I ever saw Victor smile, his arm protectively wrapped around Sherlock’s waist, the tall, curly haired brunette smiling and blushing bright red whenever Victor placed a teasing kiss to his cheek. That night was also the night I really and truly thought I would die from alcohol poisoning; it was the first night out since Sarah left me, my long time girlfriend for the previous three years. It sucked, but I got over it, thanks to too many pints to count and my best friend Greg nursing me back from the worst hangover of my life.

 

I couldn’t really remember what happened the last hour I was at the pub that night, who was there or what was said, and I wouldn’t be told of the things that conspired until many years later, in the dark quiet of a small house in Sussex.

 

For weeks (and even months, though it pains me to admit it) after that night, Sherlock just became that bloke Victor brought to the bar the night after Sarah and I ended our relationship, nothing more, nothing less. He was just there, always quiet and never capturing my attention.

 

It was on a rainy Friday night that the mysterious younger man finally caught my eye again. A lot of our mates were out with a bad flu that was beginning to spread, leaving just me, Greg, one of the nurses from the hospital named Mike, and then Victor and Sherlock.

 

With a much smaller group of men sitting at the bar, it was much easier to make conversation with everyone. It started with the most recent topic of interest, being Greg and his wife’s announcement of a baby on the way, then led on to less interesting things like the current and misfortunate state of my relationship status. Sure I’d tried dating again, but no one had met my extremely high expectations. Sarah really had been perfect for me; she managed to deal with my frequent breakdowns from working in the hospital, understood my need for the laundry to be folded in a specific way (always zip the trousers before folding), and knew how to cook a really fucking delicious fry up. On top of it all, she was absolutely stunning.

 

To say I was stubborn when it came to women (and men too, of course) would be an understatement, which is why I found myself being relentlessly teased that night by Mike and Victor that I would never really settle down, even though I had been settled for the three previous fucking years. Honestly, the teasing from Mike could be handled; we’d gone through med school together and were practically attached at the hip. However, Victor...

 

Victor Trevor was a man I was not particularly fond of. The words cocky and obnoxious came to mind at first, maybe with a topping of arrogant and uncultured added for a little extra something. He was an absolute embarrassment to our little group, and if I was honest, an embarrassment to me even more, being the only other gay or bisexual man in the group until Sherlock showed up. What Sherlock saw in him was a complete mystery to me, to all of us really, but one we never questioned, probably because Sherlock was never alone and we were all far too terrified of Victor to try and make it that way, me especially.

 

I thought especially hard about it that night. Victor’s shirt was disgustingly tight and low, even for me, a man who liked his male partners with a little bit of femininity. He reeked of cheap alcohol, too much cologne, and hair gel. Truly disgusting, I thought as Sherlock sat stiff next to him, smiling occasionally but mostly just looking down at his drink (Diet Coca Cola, as usual). The most emotion I saw from him was during Greg’s drunken reenactment of a fall one of the rugby players had taken that afternoon, and it did surprise me quite a bit to hear a genuine laugh coming from him. To be honest, I’d only heard his voice a few times in the, oh, five or so months he’d been with Victor. I wasn’t sure if I was to blame for that, or if he was just a quiet guy.

 

While Victor was distracted and ordering another round for the group in that disgusting gruff voice of his, I took the opportunity to try and strike conversation with Sherlock, starting off with a simple “I wonder if the rain is going to clear up anytime soon”. Talking about the weather, typical. Wonderful job John, you stupid tit.

 

He seemed surprised to hear words coming in his direction, and sat up, looking around sharply before his eyes settled on mine.

 

I offered him a smile, to which he did not return. He just nodded, then adverted his eyes as Victor came along with the next round of drinks.

 

I watched Sherlock Holmes closely that night, studying the way his long pale fingers seemed to twitch every few seconds and the way his eyes were always cast downward. It was a shame, really; he had beautiful eyes, the kind of eyes that spoke of knowledge and growth.

 

As we parted ways, each one of us pulling up our hoods and looking for the closest cabbie to carry us home in our drunken haze, I looked closely at Victor and Sherlock as they walked away. Sherlock loomed over his boyfriend, but stepped timidly, not in long strides as a man of his height should. Sharp voices came as Victor caught me staring, so I turned my head and walked toward the main road in the opposite direction.

 

It was when I stopped on the corner and listened intently to the voices of the two men who were walking away quickly - one angrily, the other dejectedly - that I realized Sherlock Holmes was being walked back to his own personal prison.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy this :)

Each week I would dread every step I took toward the pub. Sometimes, I would just skip the night out all together, but the “long shift at hospital” excuse began to be a bit over-abused. The nights I didn’t go made me feel even guiltier. I often sat up in my bed, blankly staring ahead at the wall and thinking to myself about how much of a fucking coward I was. Four years ago, the John Watson everyone knew would not have acted in such a way, with such timidity and carefulness. The John Watson from before would’ve been brave and strong, but that was before war and love broke him.

 

“Bloody hell,” I mumbled, standing up from where I’d been sat in my scrubs on my bed for far too long. It was long time to change and head to the local. I needed a good pint. Or four.

 

~

 

Sherlock wasn’t there that night. I grew concerned as the night continued on and Victor became more violent with every drink. While he was being fine with us, his actions toward the bar staff and other patrons reminded me too much of what would be done to Sherlock upon Victor’s arrival back to their flat. I decided I couldn’t bear to think that, and ordered myself a double gin and tonic, the first of many for me that night.

 

~

 

“Mate,” said Greg one day a couple months later. “This is the second time in the past three weeks you’ve blown us off. What’s going on?”

 

I had cast my stare downward, not wanting to look my best friend in the eyes. “I just can’t go there anymore.”

 

“What?” asked Greg, taken aback. “Did something happen that I missed?”

 

Shaking my head, I hummed to myself. Greg narrowed his eyes, knowing something was up.

 

“C’mon, John. Tell me.”

 

Greg was a good person, but he wouldn’t understand. A smart man he was, brave and strong - he had to be, what with his job. But this was different, unlike the normal problems and issues I would confront him with. I could’ve told him, trusted him, but what difference would it even make? 

 

“Just been a rough few weeks,” I lied.

 

“John Watson, do not lie to me.”

 

“What fucking difference does it make?” I suddenly shouted, furrowing my eyebrows and looking at my friend with slanted eyes.

 

His expression changed a few times in the course of a couple seconds, his lips pursing and frowning. He finally sighed and let his hand come to rest atop my shoulder. “Please, John. What is going on? Are you alright?”

 

I stared at my best mate for a good long moment before letting my shoulders slump again. “I can’t see him like that,” I finally said.

 

Greg was taken aback, frowning. “What? Who?”

 

“Sherlock,” I said impatiently.

 

“Sherlock?” Greg asked. “What’s this got to do with him?”

 

My head was starting to pound, and I sat up to walk around my friend to get a glass of water. When I sat back down at the table, Greg was staring at me expectantly. “What do you know about Sherlock Holmes?” I asked.

 

Silent for a few moments, Greg looked up thoughtfully. “Not much now that you ask. Still, I don’t get why you’re upset.”

 

“Think about it, Greg,” I said. “What do we see of Sherlock? He constantly makes himself appear smaller, he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t say a word all night, he does anything Victor asks him to do. What does that tell you about their relationship?”

 

After a pregnant pause, sudden realization dawned on my friend’s face. “Oh. Oh fuck, John.”

 

“And we all know how violent Victor can be. We’ve all experienced it firsthand.”

 

“Christ, the poor bloke,” said Greg, shaking his head. “This is why you’ve avoided nights out?”

 

I nodded. “I can’t see that shit, Greg, not after my mum and dad... You know.”

 

Greg reached forward to squeeze my shoulder sympathetically, nodding. “I understand. What do you think should be done about this?”

 

“I don’t know,” I admitted painfully. “I feel so weak, there’s so much I could have done by now, but every time I go out and tell myself tonight's the night, I’m going to help Sherlock, I just... Can’t do it. War weakened me. I’m not strong anymore, Greg.”

 

“Like hell you aren’t!” Greg exclaimed. “John Watson, you are the strongest man I know. This is a difficult situation you’ve found yourself in. Don’t go beating yourself up.”

 

I shook my head, my shoulders hunching dejectedly as I swirled my water around in its glass and picked at a few crumbs left on the table from the Digestives I’d had after my dinner. Healthy eating, and all that nonsense.

 

“I may be able to get the Met involved,” said Greg thoughtfully. “It’s not my division, but I’m sure we could find some sort of help.”

 

I just shrugged, dejected. Greg continued though.

 

“Evidence would be difficult though. Victor is sly, always has been. I mean, I certainly didn’t notice until you pointed it out.”

 

“And I grew up around it,” I added. “I know the signs. To the naked eye, he’s just a quiet guy with a noisy, annoying boyfriend.”

 

“Fuck, John. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me. Maybe come out with us tonight though? We can try and distract Victor, maybe talk to Sherlock about it if he’ll open up?”

 

I shook my head. “We can give it a try. Abusive relationships stick though. Bet the poor bloke’s got some form of Stockholm syndrome, real common with this kind of thing. Took Mum a long time to get better, just one night of talking with Sherlock won’t make a difference.”

 

“Doesn’t hurt to try though.”

 

I hummed.

 

“I’m sorry, mate, I really am,” said Greg again.

 

I turned to look at him, letting my neck crack as I did so. “S’okay.”

 

“We’ll get it sorted for him, yeah?”

 

Nodding a little, I stood up, taking my water glass with me and depositing it in the kitchen sink. Greg followed close behind me, helping to wipe off the table and wash up a few things. We worked in silence for a few minutes before I moved to switch the kettle on.

 

“So you’ll join us tonight?” Greg asked again once we were sat on the sofa with two mediocre cups of tea and an old episode of QI playing quietly on the telly.

 

I took a deep breath and nodded. Greg tipped his head and recognition before taking a big sip of tea. Sighing quietly and casting my eyes downward once again, I took a sip of my own tea. Into war again, I thought sullenly. As if I hadn’t seen enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how often this will be updated, but I wanted to get this first bit posted c: There is a light at the end of the tunnel, it'll just be a long trek there...
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!


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